


forgive me if i wander off (forgive me more if i just stay)

by TheRagingThespian



Category: The Haunting of Bly Manor (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:15:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27228703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRagingThespian/pseuds/TheRagingThespian
Summary: What's death in love?
Relationships: Dani Clayton/Jamie
Comments: 10
Kudos: 147





	forgive me if i wander off (forgive me more if i just stay)

i.

“Miss Clayton?”

Dani hums. 

“Miss Clayton.” This time there’s a finger, firm and quick, prodding at her side. When she glances down, Flora’s looking irritated. Or at least, as irritated as Flora gets.

(Sometimes there’s irritation one second and-

Then the next it’s gone, replaced by an all too calm look. A look that seems beyond her years and it’s-

(Perfectly splendid.)

unnatural.)

“Yes?”

Flora’s shoulders drop, less pressing and urgent now that she’s got her attention. No, now she takes her time, draws it out. Dani looks around as Flora works it out. It’s bright and sunny out. The constant days of rain and general dreariness making way for clear skies and picnics. “What’s love like?”

“Um.” Dani returns her gaze as it was before, freezes at the sight, and twists so she’s facing Flora fully. 

She hears a breath of quiet laughter, quick and contained, and she has to force herself not to look.

Don’t look. It’s as easy as that. Just. Don’t-

Crinkled green eyes meet hers and-

Flora huffs. 

Dani smiles, hopes it’s as warm as she intends it because Flora is too young, _too good_ to not know she’s so loved. “Well, _you_ know what it feels like, silly. Owen loves you and Ms. Grose. I love you and- and your parents. I know they love you so-”

“I know that.” Flora bites her lips, quirks her mouth to the side. She’s so full of movement. Dani had missed it. The questions and perspectives of the world and light that children embody. “I mean _love_.”

Heat rushes up the back of her neck, has _her_ biting her lip. She glances back to Jamie who’s guided a vine up and over the arbor but still somehow has the time to smile quickly at her, eyebrows raising. “Oh I-” Her voice breaks and she sucks in a quick breath. “Why do you ask?”

(There’s a part of her that’s worried Flora will question and question and _see_. That she’ll have to confront this and-

 _Oh_. There’s a part of her that welcomes it. Aches to know how it would feel to begin to acknowledge it.)

“I just.” More quirking and now her fingers grab at her shirt and tug. “Does it ever seem like it’s- it’s not good? But it is to you?”

Dani thinks. Tries to think of every way this could be interpreted in Flora’s mind but quick enough that Flora doesn’t get bored and wander off before she’s finished because this- the way Flora asks, concerned and _scared_ \- this is important.

(She instantly thinks of Jamie and hears _Poppins_.

But it’s tempered by thinking of the way Hannah’s face falls when she talks about Rebecca. Talks about Peter.)

“I think when it’s good, everyone can see it. Even if they don’t want to say so, you can see it. You can-you can feel it. It-.” Dani looks up at the sun, at the way the plants are reaching out and up for it. Looks at Jamie and suddenly feels the urge to reach herself. 

(Thinks it’s undeniable.)

“It-”

ii.

Jamie’s leg is warm against hers. 

There’s a blanket over them, the fire crackling a few paces away from them, but still. Still, she can feel Jamie’s warmth. Jamie shifts and Dani finds more of the blanket pooling into her lap.

(It’s a game they’ve been playing since they’ve started the fire. Silently passing each other more than needed blanket.

She’s not sure if she wants to win, to lose, to find herself in a draw and looking into-)

Jamie huffs- a sound she makes constantly- drawing her out of her thoughts, as soon as she realizes the blanket is back to her. It’s nice. The only sounds between them the fire popping and the hushed laughs, whispers, breaths between them. The kids had gone to bed, tired after chasing her around the lawn. They had stopped when they neared the lake, Flora growing quiet and-

Haunted.

“Fancy shedding some of your mysterious history?” Jamie’s words are quiet, like most of her movements, but it carries in the cool night air. It takes her a moment to process and then she snorts, earning a laugh from Jamie in response.

“Mysterious?”

Jamie shrugs. “You don’t come to Bly for no reason.” Dani snorts again. Wrinkles her nose this time because she wished she hadn’t the first and now- well now, Jamie is looking at her with a fondness that can’t possibly be from that. Besides it’s a far nicer way to ask than she thinks Jamie is ought to do. Thinks she could ask why she continuously finds her teetering the edge of a breakdown. Thinks she could ask why Jamie can put her at ease.

“Then what’s your reason?”

Their shoulders brush as Jamie leans in close, close enough that Dani thinks she should lean away but- but it’s nice and warm and it’d be terrible to ruin it. She looks into hazel eyes- in this light, but she swears they were green earlier, bright amongst the foliage- and leans forward herself. 

If Jamie is surprised, she doesn’t show it besides the barest flicker of her eyes looking between them. 

“I asked first.”

“Okay.” She breathes in deep, drops her hands heavily on her knees. She had left to get away. To get away from- _glasseslightsguilt_ \- to avoid. To-

God, sometimes she wishes she could just exist without there being so much-

Just so much. 

(She had so desperately wanted to avoid reflections, avoid mirrors, avoid anything remotely shiny that at a point-

Well, at a point, she stopped getting anything. Stopped doing.

Moved and left an apartment- a room, it was a room- bare. 

And now, now she’s surrounded by Flora and Miles.

Surrounded by a too big house with too nice people and even sitting here, Jamie solid beside her, feels an awful lot like-

Growth.)

“I had a fiancé.”

Jamie’s jaw shifts as she slowly raises her cigarette, inhaling deep and slow. “Yeah. Course.” Her shoulders are tense, but then they loosen and fall. “Feel like there’s a bit more there.”

“There is.” But her chest is tight and the moment has changed, stiffer, rigid, and-

It feels like so much more.

“Hey, hey.” Jamie knocks her mug against hers, just hard enough to stir her but not enough to be in danger of losing her grasp, “You’re alright. We can just-” Jamie flaps her hand. “Relax. You ever done that?”

Dani laughs, but it’s wheezy and thin. It doesn’t settle Jamie if her look says anything. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired.” Jamie’s face softens, and _oh_ Dani didn’t know she- in all her lounging, quipping glory- could even look that soft. “Sometimes,” she grins, knows how ridiculous it will sounds, “sometimes it sounds like the house is whispering all night.”

(It breathes and shakes.

There’s footsteps all night, and anytime she goes to check, Flora and Miles are there.

Nightmares. Worries. Storms. Anything and everything, so she can’t check. 

She just sleeps. Wakes. And listens.)

Jamie’s eyes squint. Not quite worried but curious. Alert. “What’s it say?”

It’s hard to articulate. To hear the house coaxing quietly, gently, silently every night, images that don’t make sense, and memories- because that’s- that’s what they are, right?

It says too much and doesn’t say anything at all.

What does say something are the volumes she sees in Jamie’s eyes, in Jamie’s lip that twitches just so, in the hand that slightly drifts over her arm and falls.

Dani allows herself to close her eyes, just for a moment. She tries to stop herself from grinning now, but feels it coming all the same and puts on her best- still not terribly good, in fact bad. Completely an awfully bad- accent, “It likes your flowers, it does.”

When she opens her eyes, Jamie looks mildly offended, a grin playing at the corners of her lips, but mostly-

Mostly, it’s tender and warm and when Jamie slides even closer, patting at her shoulder, Dani doesn’t think twice to rest her head against Jamie. 

(They end the night with the blanket pooled at the end of the bench, pressing tightly together instead.)

(The next night she goes to bed, there’s flowers on her nightstand.)

iii.

“It needs more.”

Dani laughs beside her as her eyes- one as blue as the sky and the other as deep and earthy as the ground below- meets Jamie’s. “More?”

“Yes,” Jamie affirms. It’s part of her plan. Push for more, see if Dani will agree, and pull the plants out of her car as if it’s all a happy accident.

As if it’s not the plan.

(As if Dani will tell her no.)

Instead, Dani will hum and tilt her head back and forth, acting as if it’s not an actuality when Jamie knows from even that question it’s a solid, absolute yes. 

“You see,” she rolls up the cuffs of her sleeves, thumb hooking under the material before she just shoves it up and over her elbows after getting irritated. “This air is pretty stuffy.”

“The air,” Dani echoes, “that’s a new one.”

“Air is pretty old, actually love.” Dani snorts. It’s sharp and has Jamie releasing her own breath. 

(Dani had been quiet on the drive over.

Which is both typical and not.

Sometimes it’s unclear who she’s dealing with. Dani or some jumbled version of the two of them. Of the-

Dani calls it the beast.

Jamie calls it the coward.)

“You see,” she muses as Dani walks over to her, the boards creaking beneath their feet. Dani clicks her tongue and unravels her cuffs before starting anew, the tips of her fingers lightly touching the underside of her arm with every roll. “We’ll need more in here, so that it doesn’t overwhelm those two poor, exploited plants.”

“You’ve brought in at least five.”

“Three and two-thirds.”

“Three and- _Jamie_.” A sharp tug and another flip has her sleeves neat and tidy. Dani keeps her hands there all the same, thumb brushing against the side of her wrist with a gentleness that’s all Dani. “I know you have more.”

“Define more.”

She’s fixed with a stare then, and it’s supposed to be chastising, she’s sure of it. But being on the end of Dani’s gaze, wholehearted and singularly focused on her- well, it’s charming and lovely and she’d like it to continue. “You know I don’t mind more plants.”

“Yeah but then you’d miss out on my powers of persuasion.” 

Dani’s grin goes crooked and toothy as she pulls her close, murmurs of her ridiculousness against her lips. 

(Truth be told, it gives them both something to focus on.

There are plants that are Dani’s, plants that are hers, and plants that they share.

It gives her a system of knowing, always, always, always, where Dani is in the day. That if she’s missed watering the plant they share but has watered her own, she’s either teasing or has just strayed from the tracks just a bit during the day. Maybe has forgotten to turn off the bath water or the hose outside or is watching the rain fall. 

(All with this look that she swears isn’t _Dani_.) 

When she waters them all, Jamie greets her with a thorough kiss.

When she forgets them all though, she tears through the house, desperate to see those eyes and soft hair and infinitely softer eyes. 

So Jamie will fill their home with plants, with life, and hopes Dani helps her keep it that way.)

iv.

It’s not exactly how she imagined it. 

(To be fair, she imagined it in a variety of ways. 

During every Christmas, surrounded by her siblings, where it was warm and light and-

Well, then it wasn’t, quite suddenly. 

She still imagined it though. Even more so, afterwards. Imagined a family, whole and together. Soft and brilliant and hard, a blanket of snow over a town and a train slowly working its way through the hills. 

Clean.

Without coal and ash and death.

Life, vibrant and eager and waiting, just below it.

A white Christmas.)

The train is quiet and the people are quiet and Dani keeps looking back to her with a curious- quiet- gaze.

“Some looker behind me?”

Dani rolls her eyes, the lights catching the brilliant blue and highlighting the depth of neverending brown. “Yeah.” Her accent- drawling, thick, kind- sounds out of place even in America. Or at least the Northeast where the crowd chatters in quick and tight phrases. “She’s about mmm,” Dani holds a hand just at her head, “this high. Real good looks.” She leans in close then and Jamie always- willingly, desperately- eagerly leaning forward until they share the same space. “Bad attitude sometimes,” Dani whispers, delighting in the way Jamie lunges forward to- to do something if only to make that smile bigger and that giggle continue forever. 

They hadn’t made it that year, when she had planned and planned, and then Dani felt as if she’d go through her hands like-

(She doesn’t dare suggest any lakes or beaches or anything remotely close to water.)

But then Dani had shoved her out of bed, brochures in hand, bags at the ready and thoroughly destroyed any argument as to why they shouldn’t.

Feeling downright throttled, Jamie didn’t pity the children Dani had in her classes in the past. When putting her mind to something, Dani trekked onwards, regardless of what was in her path. All the while, a jaunty hustle that made Jamie want to laugh and sweep her up all the same.)

Dani throws an arm around her shoulders and pulls her close, closer still when Jamie sighs with relief. “I just,” Dani searches around the train as if she’s searching for what to say, or better yet, how to say it, “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m alright.” Dani’s chin drops on her shoulder and those eyes are wide and warm when Jamie chances a look to her side. “It’s-” She flaps a hand as they wander throughout the steadily accelerating train. They take up the majority of the narrow aisle, Dani still plastered against her side and doing some odd sort of shuffle to keep her close by. A man makes a grumpy sort of sound- the audacity- as they waddle past, and it takes all of Jamie not to strike up a certain conversation with him.

(It takes all of Jamie meaning it takes her all of a second to recognize Dani’s firm hand at the small of her back and the gentle push of her hand and-

It doesn’t take any of her, not at all really, to listen to Dani in an instant, swiftly and fervently.)

“It’s a train.”

“It is.” Dani draws it out a bit longer than needed, her confusion clear. 

“Thought it’d be more to be honest.”

(It doesn’t fit as neatly into her heart. Doesn’t fill some immeasurable space and shape.

It’s just a train in December, and it’s cold and Dani- Dani keeps looking at her reflection more and more and more.)

Her heart falls even more as they reach the narrow tight space they’ll call a home for the night and feels it crash around her. “This was stupid.”

Dani spins them around fast, her hand already being on her shoulder before she finishes her sentence, and, even now, with Dani looking worryingly at her, hands framing her face, she wonders if Dani already knew how she felt. How she was feeling. And just hung back until she was ready to talk. Dani, ready and willing, for Jamie to fall into her.

(Push and pull.

It’s taken work- from both of them. Of knowing when to breathe, wait, listen. Of knowing when to step into the other’s space and gather them in a hug that’s as warm and loving as the sun against the petals of a flower. 

It’s taken her to hold her tongue, stifle the quick words and quicker temper at the unfairness, at the damn house, at Dani- Dani who was so quick and gentle and good-hearted to welcome this into herself. 

It’s Dani’s bravery over and over again. It’s her tap, tapping against Jamie’s hand when she sees, hears, feels it. One tap for a flash of something, two taps for it’s still there, _Jamie, she’s still here_. 

It’s taken them.)

“It’s not stupid.” It’s a whisper, a promise against her head, fingers roaming idly through her hair. When she grumbles, low and deep in her chest, Dani’s breath fans out against the side of her neck. “Tell me what you wanted.”

Jamie groans. “A white Christmas.”

“Well,” Dani directs her in a neat little half-spin until she’s facing the gentle hills passing by them, snow glittering as the sun begins its descent. “What’s that then?”

“Snow.”

“And it’s-”

“Almost Christmas.”

“Debbie Downer.”

“Who’s she now?” 

That earns her a light, playful elbow against her side. “I hear,” and now Dani’s back against her, whispering against her ear in a way that’s downright unfair, “they have hot chocolate too.”

“So you can rob them of every marshmallow?”

“Only yours,” Dani says sweetly. She urges Jamie to sit, eyes fixing her in place- she’s always so struck by those eyes, long before they were different colors. All it took was once and then it took hold, growing into a shape that she couldn’t name but felt a hell of a lot like love, like forever- “I have something.”

“Hopefully our tickets.”

Dani’s face falls. “Um.” She looks down, pats at her pockets. It’s adorable and endearing, and oh even if they get kicked off, Jamie’s already glad she’s here.

(With Dani.

Always with Dani.)

“I’m sure I’ll _find_ them.” Dani crinkles her nose and her hands ache to pull her close. “More importantly,” she rummages around in their suitcases for a moment, shaking her head as her forehead wrinkles in concentration. “Got it!”

“Our tickets?”

“I said I’ll find them.” Dani passes a mass of- Jamie cranes her head as she twists it back and forth- maps? Definitely. It’s maps of Vermont, their destination carefully drawn out in red ink and circled one, two, three times with such effort that it bled through the side. “Sorry,” Dani muses, “I used what I had.”

“You got me a present?”

“Of course.” Dani sounds somewhat offended. Somewhat offended for an individual who in no uncertain terms agreed to no gifts because they had scrounged their money for this trip- a trip Jamie had wanted. 

(Dani had scoffed and called her stubborn.

Said whatever Jamie wanted, she wanted. That she’d follow her, be it land, sea, air-

They both agreed to avoid the sea for now.)

“You’re devious.” Dani grins at that, a little wicked in the corners, before nudging at her knee. Jamie carefully peels away the hurried pieces of tape, knowing she’ll keep this map and run her thumb over Dani’s circle after circle. Over the clear times and schedules edged into the sidings. The lines and numbers and streets fall away into a deep green, soft and thick, scarf. 

“Dani-” Her hands get lost in the softness of it, the endless green that makes her miss the vines that she’s slowly, successfully, getting to climb up their walls.

“You stared at it.” Dani’s biting at her lip, hands wringing. “At that shop. And they were nice. I know- I know we said no gifts, but it’s small! It’s small, and you’re- you’re my favorite.”

“Come here.” Jamie tugs them together, until they’re awkwardly smushed together- Dani laughing in between her quick, anxious breaths- and winds the scarf around them both. “You’re stubborn, you know that?”

“I’ve heard it once or twice.”

“You’ve heard it from me thrice over.” Jamie winds the ends of the scarf around her palms, pulls and hums happily when it has Dani hunching even closer to her, limbs and all, “You’re my favorite too.”

v.

The lawn is large and green and extremely, very, perfectly quiet. 

It’s lush and well-kept, and she so desperately wants to know if there’s a lake. Would Henry want to normalize it for them again? Just a lake. Just water that’s not so deep, not as deep as the ocean. 

Just a lake.

(Not a place of curses or people or skeletons of long-broken promises that linger far longer than the individuals who carried them, who had broken them, who had come across them.

Not a place in which Dani knows she’ll return some day, take her place among haunted secrets and confessions and-

Sleep. Wake. Walk.)

“Still here?”

Jamie looks expectantly at her, arm stretched across Owen’s too tall shoulders. Owen grins, thankfully rid of just the mustache and sporting a full beard. On anyone else, it’d hide that deep, earnest smile, but Owen’s? Owen’s shines through, brightens the already too bright image of a beautiful home and beautiful lawn and-

The world shifts, her feet briefly losing contact with the ground, tilted, then steadily placed- floats, she’s floating- down again. 

“Poppins?”

(She’s not back at the house. She’s not back at the house.

She’s not. She’s notshe’s _nononono_ -)

The world returns in a fury of greens and blues and birds singing. It returns with Jamie- still looking, still beautiful- pulling her arm from Owen and taking a half-step towards her. Her eyes squint, worried and searching. 

(It’s not fair.

Not fair for Jamie to look at her like that. Not fair for Jamie to watch and watch and watch. To sweep her up in her arms when she sees water, sees her reflection.

(Sometimes. 

Sometimes, she wonders if it’d be kinder to put an end to this. To stop the worry and fear and the way Jamie will run into the bathroom if she doesn’t immediately respond the instant Jamie steps through the door.

Sometimes, sleep calls to her.)

It’s not fair to find such a love and still wonder what it will mean in the end.)

“Where else would I be?” And because she’s feeling anxious and her chest is tight, she can’t help but continue. “I’m here. We’re here. Well, they’re,” she waves her hand to the house, “they’re over there and-”

“Okay,” Owen claps his hands, “Good. A successful round of roll call.” He points behind him, towards the house that isn’t that _house_ \- Dani looks it over twice and nods to herself, not that house- arms still raised as he looks between them. “Shall we?”

Dani bounds forward, intent on getting those looks off their faces, intent on moving out of place before Jamie, stubborn and resolute and strong Jamie, will stop her in her tracks and see-she always sees- having them both home before Dani can blink. 

(Are you sure you want to go, Jamie had asked, the sheets kicked down at the edge of the bed, Jamie favoring her warmth far more.

Dani had taken a moment to squeeze Jamie tighter in her arms, twisting them both around as Jamie grumbled, and thought about every place she had followed Jamie to so far. 

Thinks she’s not about to stop now and-

Yes, of course, she answers to a far different question than Jamie asks.)

She loops her arm with Owens and throws a look over her shoulder. “Coming?”

“Always love.”

It’s a quiet walk through the courtyard, into the foyer, rounding about from room to room until- Until there they are. Quiet and tucked in close, Flora and Miles sit patiently on the couch. It’s almost a picture-perfect image, Henry standing behind the couch, smiling faintly down at them. Perfect if not for their fidgeting hands, Miles’ leg kicking out every few seconds and the impatience that slowly seeps into Flora’s face, inch by inch. 

(Or is it millimeter here?)

Dani drops to her knee as soon as she sees Flora shift, expecting a hug, expecting Flora and Miles to run across the room and greet her.

They merely stand. 

She can’t quite process, so she gets up- slowly, or- or is it quickly? She takes a step forward, sees the polite smiles plastered on their faces. She’d be proud of their manners if she hadn’t wanted all prosperity thrown to the wind.

It’s only been a year.

It’s only been a year, and it feels so much shorter than that and yet so much longer.

(Every moment with Jamie lasts a second, a lifetime, all wrapped neatly together until she questions the validity of even measuring time. Finds herself measuring through every soft smile, every shy glance- they’re rare and a joyful victory on her behalf- every soft touch instead.)

It’s only been a year and the beast takes a step forward as Flora and Miles take one back.

Jamie’s hand finds her shoulder, squeezes briefly, and then tiptaps down the length of her arm until she can slip her fingers in the spaces between hers. Gives another squeeze.

“Hi you two,” Jamie calls. She murmurs her own hello but winces when it seems altogether too much of a croak, too loud.

“Hi.” Flora looks suspiciously at her. It’d be adorable, again, given any other context of a young girl giving her such odd, slipping into negative, glances. Miles, on the other hand, looks about the room as if he couldn’t be more bored.

And then, just like the world and the ground and her breath, it returns.

It’s a shout as it clicks. “Miss Clayton!” Flora jumps forward and stretches out her arms. She turns her head, but doesn’t lower her arms, looking to Henry- it speaks volumes to their relationship, a quiet question of _this okay?_ He nods and then Dani’s arms are full of Flora and the beginning of what is sure to be endless chatter. “-That’s what Miles says at least. You should just meet my teacher.”

“Yeah? She nice?”

 _“No.”_ Dani chuckles as Flora bumps their heads together, brown eyes startlingly serious. Dani laughs again, finds the breath catches in her lungs, and it’s only that- that slight hitch that makes it sound like a sob. 

“I missed you.” It comes out in a rush, working it’s way out after threatening to grow and grow in her chest until there was no room left. Growing in the absence of their joyful laughter and energy, and the beast had ate away at it. Coaxed it. 

“Dani,” Flora says in a way that makes her feel so, so small, “We’re always with you.” 

(For a second, she swears she sees, feels a figure right behind Flora.)

“Come,” Flora commands. Her shoulders curl inwards, eyes darting to the floor when Henry clears his throat, “Right. Right. Do you want to see the house?”

“Well, I, for one, would love to see the kitchen.” Owen grins as Flora wriggles out of her arms and runs to him. “Oh, I don’t know if I know you.”

As Owen and Flora continue to bicker, Jamie gives her a long, fond look that’s so full of relief Dani feels tears gather in her eyes, before following them through. Henry places a hand on her arm, gives her a nod so deep she’s sure his chin touches his chest and passes through. 

She looks towards the last one left in the room. Miles seems to purposefully hang back, eyes meeting hers and then looking back down, head jerking just so away from the doorway where everyone’s left. 

“Miles?” She imagines he thinks he’s getting too old for long hugs, so she settles for ruffling his hair when he allows her to come closer. 

He still doesn’t seem to appreciate it much more than she thought he would a hug.

(But he leans his head into her hand all the same.) 

“I’m sorry,” Miles whispers, looking far too grown for his age but still- weary and drawn- “for what happened.” 

(She has a million questions. Do he and Flora remember everything? Do they talk about it? What does Henry say? Is everything okay?

Does it still feel like the house is surrounding them? At night, when it’s quiet and dark and the shadows are spread around in such a way that she can’t tell what’s the light and what isn’t

She only has one thing to say though.)

“Me too.”

vi.

Her dreams are full of warm hands and laughter. 

She wakes slowly, too immersed in the dream to wake up rapidly. Not that she enjoys waking up quickly anyway. She enjoys waking to the smell of tea, it’s pleasant smell a lie to what actually makes its way into her cup at Dani’s hands, and the gentle grazes of Dani’s hands at her hips. She thoroughly intends to continue that, maybe catch Dani before she leaves the bed and presses backwards.

Instead, she finds that side of the bed cold, without a trace of the enveloping warmth that Dani so easily puts off. 

“Dani?”

She freezes, waiting for the response, begging for a response, a noise, anything.

All that meets her is the beginning of bustle below in the streets as the sun lazily crawls upwards.

Jamie scrambles out of bed, throwing off the covers to the side, panic clawing at her chest, her throat and-

Her leg catches and she hits the floor.

“Dani.” Her eyes burn and her teeth tear at her lips. “ _Please_.”

( _They forgot us_ , Dani had said the night before. Pale in the dark, the light only catching the side of her face. Don’t, she had raised her hand as Jamie had tried to argue they remembered in an instant, _they had_ forgotten _us_.)

“Dani,” she yells again. And again. Again. As many times until her voice is hoarse as she rips through the apartment. 

Her knees buckle when she gets to the bathroom. The door is closed, a light flickering underneath against the floor. Jamie jerks the knob and yanks the door open with a force that has the frame creaking. 

The bathroom is empty.

(Dani had dipped her head afterwards, withdrawn, wiped of all emotion. Blank. She stared at Jamie, and, in the light, both eyes looked brown.

(In the years to come, she’ll hate how hopeful Dani sounds in her next words.)

 _Will you forget me too?_ )

Jamie looks at the sink, the towels, the tub-

It’s full. And now, now taking a deep breath because Dani isn’t staring at the kitchen sink or the bathroom sink or hunched over the bathtub, she sees wet footprints.

She follows.

She follows them down their hallway, out the door, down the stairs.

(Briefly, her mind wonders, how her feet are still wet.

As if they’ve never left the water.)

Their bell jingles happily, dully, as she steps away from the entrance and obediently keeps to the path. She follows them, doggedly going from print to print, shouldering and elbowing those in the way. 

Her shoulder aches with every hit, but she continues, head down and shoulders squared. The prints take a sharp left and, after bumping into an elderly woman- even Jamie feels the need to apologize here- Jamie does the same. She’s so intently focused on picking up the drying footprints that she overlooks the figure in her path.

Until she doesn’t.

Dani stands in the middle of an alley, hair dark and pulled down with moisture as are her clothes, as she shakes. “Dani.” She’s breathless and choking and the sight of Dani is both a relief and isn’t. A relief that she’s here, she’s still here, thank God she’s-

And yet Dani doesn’t move. Just continues to shiver and stare at her feet. No, Jamie corrects herself, at a small puddle. “Dani,” Jamie calls softly. She eases her shoulders, hoping to tell this as a joke to Dani later, her football career as a- a receiver or whatever position it should be after Dani corrects her. “Dani.” This time she steps into Dani’s view and reaches out with a cautious hand. 

The haze over Dani’s eyes lifts as does her gaze. “Jamie.” She sounds a bit confused, a bit cheerful to see her. “What’s-oh.” Dani presses her lips into a thin line, grabs her outstretched hand and pulls her close. “I didn’t-” 

Her wet hair brushes against Jamie’s face, her hands. The droplets from Dani’s movement are jarring. A drop here. There. Her lips against Jamie’s head, whispering apologies as tears fall from her eyes. It feels so incredibly real that it must be. 

(Right? It must be. 

It must be.)

vii.

Jamie doesn’t leave her side after the-

The incident is what Dani calls it in her head. 

(Jamie calls it The Morning Walk. She’ll grin and laugh and gently prod at her until she’s laughing with her.

But, in between, Dani sees the way her hands shake and her eyes follow Dani as she moves.

Can you- Dani’s hesitant to ask Jamie, so instead she rolls it over and over in her mind- haunt someone while you’re still alive?)

She twists the ring around her finger, once with her right hand, then with the thumb of her left hand, spinning it idly and clumsily against her finger. 

“The regret’s settling in, isn’t it?”

Dani smiles, feels it pulling even further at the corners of her mouth. “Never,” she says resolutely and presses a quick kiss against the cool metal. She turns to Jamie, who’s sitting in some variation between cross-legged and legs sticking out, and quirks her mouth to the side. “Are you?”

“You know better than that.” 

It’s said over a gardening magazine that she had ordered Jamie a month ago. When one had first arrived, Jamie had been confused. Eyes guarded and seeming almost half offended. What are they going to tell me that I don’t already know? Now, though, now she burns through them the instant they make their way to their stoop. Anytime Dani goes out on a day it’s supposed to come, Jamie hounds her at the entrance. When she asks about it before kissing her as a greeting, Dani draws the line.

They reached a compromise where she gets soundly and thoroughly kissed at the door if she raises the magazine clear in the air.

(Sometimes, she grabs a random newspaper and throws it in the air upon her arrival.

She finds that it works even better than intended as the kissing doesn’t stop when Jamie’s not distracted by a magazine that was once a good idea.)

“I’m just saying-”

“I’m happily married. Unioned. And I’d like to think my wife,” even in her frustration, Jamie tilts her head and says the word with such love, “is quite satisfied.”

“She is.” It’s an easy agreement to be honest. The only part somewhat off-putting is the way in which Jamie’s smirking at her. It’s far too arrogant and boastful and Dani decides tomorrow that she’ll pick up the home improvement magazine that Jamie loudly criticizes anytime they’re in a store. 

Although, she must admit that, sprawled out lazily in the sun, eyes a fierce green, it looks good on Jamie.

She admires the view for a long moment, wishing for anything that she could paint and finally figure out the exact color of Jamie’s eyes. Her fingers twitch at the thought, her nose-

Wait. “Jamie.” Those eyes meet hers again, warmth pooling in her stomach- but she needs to focus. “What’s that smell?”

Jamie’s chest rises as she takes a deep breath. She makes a quick popping noise with her mouth. “That, my love, would be our dinner burning.”

“ _Jamie_.”

Jamie scrambles up, tossing her magazine into Dani’s lap. “It’s fine. It’s fine.” Dani treads along after her, neatly placing the magazine on top of the stack of books by the lamp. “Oh. Hmm. Well,” Dani glances up and meets Jamie’s sheepish glance and the remnants of their dinner.

“You used the timer I got specifically for you, right?”

“I can’t tell if that’s a genuine question or you rubbing it in just a bit deeper.” Dani bites her lip to keep from grinning and holds up the trash can. Jamie mutters a quick thanks and all but chucks the blackened- she thinks it was once chicken but it’s anyone’s guess at this point- chicken in. “Between you and me, I think I got the ingredients wrong again. I don’t understand why a teaspoon can’t be a teaspoon.”

Dani deepens her voice and raises her arms, “Let it be known that by Jamie The Burner’s decree, all measurements shall be the same.”

“That make you feel better?”

Jamie’s halfway to pouting, although tucked away, in her eyes, in the slightest twitch of her lips, there’s amusement and affection. Dani steps towards her, following when Jamie reaches behind her and pushes herself up and onto the counter. “A little.”

“Yeah?” Dani finds herself urged forward by quick hands and Jamie’s legs bracketing her on either side. “What’s gonna make it better?” 

She kisses Jamie. Quick and deep, her hand pressing against Jamie’s back to pull her as close as she can without getting too close to the edge. Jamie sighs against her, hands twisting in her hair. When she pulls away, Jamie huffs, swiping a thumb at her lip and a surprised look on her face. It gives way to heated when she grabs the collar of Jamie’s flannel, worn and soft beneath her hands, and drops her voice to a whisper as Jamie’s hands tighten against her shoulders. “ _Pizza_.”

Dani doesn’t look for Jamie’s reaction. She turns as quickly as she can, feeling Jamie’s hand snatch at her shirt without any purchase as she runs through their home. Jamie’s footsteps are a dull thud as she gives chase, shoes long since worn down.

(That night, when they’re tangled together, Jamie tracing idle patterns against her skin, the image stays with her. 

Jamie following right behind her.)

viii.

It had been so long.

Long enough that she had tricked herself into thinking they were fine and this was fine and it would all _be fine_. 

Looking back, it should have been clear.

Dani had been cooking. Her latest project- a mess of paints and canvases that always resulted in Dani staring at her with an intensity that was hard to name before shaking her head and buying more paint (always a green of some sort) without explanation- forgotten at their table. It was inconspicuous coming from anyone else, the tea being set down in front of her as Dani pressed a kiss against her cheek, her temple, her head. 

It had been perfect.

Now, hours after, she realizes it had been anything but. 

(Dani is bitter coffee and too sweet tea. 

Well, one day. The next, she’s too sweet coffee and bitter tea. 

Dani can cook whatever recipe she throws in front of her but tea? Coffee? Jamie loves her endlessly for an endless list of reasons but right at the tip top of that list is her inability to make a normal beverage.

The tea that afternoon had been perfect but perfect is Dani somehow burning water over and over again.)

Hours after, it feels like a goodbye wrapped up in cream and sugar.

(Her mouth feels bitter for days.)

Because their bed is empty and the house is empty and the box tucked away where Dani stores cash for gifts- she thinks she’s clever, she’s not, she’s not but _oh_ , Jamie loves her- is empty.

Standing alone in their home, surrounded by their things and their love, Jamie knows, deep in her chest, in her bones, where Dani has gone.

She throws her scarf around her shoulders, once, twice and finds the weight of it keeps her centered. The softness brushing against her chin, reminding her to not lose focus, to keep on her task, to find Dani. 

She gathers her own stash- this one not for presents and love and laughter. This one stored with the knowledge of this day and the lengths it would take for Jamie to reach where Dani had gone.

(They had traveled further and further from it.

But oh, it’s reach just grew and grew and grew until it took shape with them, in their life.)

Every minute feels too long. 

(Her mind supplies her with the question every second, is Dani taking her last breath?)

When an hour passes, she sobs in the taxi. The man driving starts blasting Whitney Houston and says it always makes him feel better. 

In a taxi, far from home and her wife, Jamie thinks it’s not exactly appropriate to ask this taxi driver what better is without Dani. 

(She still does because she’s still crying and Dani’s still gone and she’s so, so _tired_.

He goes pale and turns the music up louder.)

Ride after ride after ride and finally-

Finally, she’s staring at Bly Manor and feels a strange sense of belonging and returning and as if she never left. Whispers gather at the edges of her senses, shadows creep along the corners of the house, of the yard. 

They coalesce. They point. They _pull_.

She’s running before she even realizes it. 

Past the stone walls, past the gardens.

(She sees them as she passes.

Her propping her feet up on the table as Hannah frowns. Her paying no mind to it in favor of watching the way Dani’s hair brightens in the sun. The hands on her hip and stern voice making her and Hannah laugh.

She sees the way Dani took root in their lives in an instant, spreading and spreading until she’s not sure what’s left without her.)

She runs past the church.

( _Hannah. Hannah_. She’s so sorry but-

She will not light a candle.

Not for Dani. Not when they have more time.)

The grass, seeped in morning dew and moisture, glints in the light and coats her pants. Creeps up her ankles as she stops, breath caught in her throat.

(Is she breathing?)

A body floats gently in the lake. Arms splayed out and face turned toward the sun. 

(She doesn’t want relief.

Doesn’t want the sick, shameful, hollow relief that will eat away at the grief. 

Doesn’t want relief at Dani giving into the beast and knowing that there’s no worry if Dani isn’t moving in the tub because, instead-

Instead, Dani is gone.) 

Jamie is in the water before she really, truly thinks. In the water, first sloshing at her ankles, and then pulling at her waist and elbows and neck.

She’s in the water before she thinks-

Thinks that it’s peculiar that the body that had been so still is now moving, lifting, sitting up.

“Jamie?”

She can’t breathe. She can’t see, vision swimming- she’ll laugh at herself later- in and out of focus. Hands grab at her shoulders, colder even than the cool water, cup her face. 

“I can’t- I can’t-”  
The hands pull their faces together, noses brushing until finally- finally-

She sees.

Dani is crying and is attempting to brush away tears as her hand leaves more water in its place. “I’m sorry.” Her hands _squeeze_. “I’m sorry. I was just waiting. I- I didn’t know what would happen, so I just.” She looks down at the water, finally settling from Jamie’s dash to the middle, “waited.”

(She had once vowed that she would rather go, be given mercy, than to be waiting day in and day out.

Now, she wants anything but.)

“Waiting,” she says thickly, in between tears and sadness and anger, “waiting is good.”

So they wait.

They wait for Henry to pick up. For him to respond when Jamie says, bites, snarls into the phone that they need to fix this. 

They wait for cars and trucks and people to slowly filter in, meandering about the lake as they talk amongst themselves, waiting for instructions.

They wait as skeletons are pulled from the lake. Some so small that it makes Jamie’s stomach twist even tighter, her nails digging into Dani’s arms.

They wait until Dani goes stiff, eyes refusing to blink, as a chest is pulled from the waters.

“That’s it.” It’s a whisper. “That’s it.” 

Jamie goes to open it but is stopped by deathly cold hands.

Dani’s. Dani’s that grab her and jerk her back. “ _Don’t_ ,” she warns. 

“Okay. Okay.” Jamie holds up her hands, allowing Dani to come forward in her place. “What is it?”

“A gift,” Dani breathes, hands tracing along the sides of the chest, the tops, the latches. It opens stubbornly, Dani leaning and bracing her weight against it to push upwards. 

Inside remains what Jamie thinks were once fabric. 

Jamie places a hand at Dani’s back, lingers there in the hope that some of her warmth will sink into Dani, who’s so usually warm and vibrant but is now cold. “Think they still want it?”

“No.” 

They stay that way. Long, longer, until Dani shifts and Jamie has to ask, “What do you need?”

Dani stares at it for a long beat, then another. “It,” she pulls a hand to her chest, curls it in close, “it feels like home.”

“Okay.” Jamie claps her hands. “I’ve got a plan.”

And then Dani waits. 

Waits for her to lug bag after bag of dirt and mulch and tools to the place she had planted a moonflower so long ago. 

“So,” she says as she presses the shovel into the dirt, finding it pleasantly soft, “You remember what I told you last time we were here?”

“People are exhausting?”

Jamie pauses, leaning against the shovel. Dani’s hair is still wet.

(It will take her years and years to not see the image of her, staring at the sun, daily.

Today, though, she will do what she can.)

“What else?”

“Plants,” Dani says slowly, eyes closing as she tries to remember. Her face quirked in such a way that Jamie has to fight to stay in place, “stay after us.”

“Yep.” Another shovel full of dirt. “We leave more life behind us to take our place.”

Dani is quiet for a long time after that. Watching as the hole gets bigger, deeper. Watching as Jamie begins dragging the chest to it before taking the weight of it and pulling beside her. 

It falls in with all the silence of an empty house, empty street, empty lake. 

“It’s you. It’s me. And eventually,” Jamie says, rearing back on her feet, knees sinking into the fresh mud-

“It’ll be all of us.”

ix.

“Miss Clayton?”

Dani blinks and Flora- _Flora_ because although she goes by a different name now, she had confessed one night- amongst popcorn and movies and laughter- that it reminds her of when she was little and small and cared for and _Flora_. 

(Dani steers the conversation away then. Always. Without fail.

Part of her mind- an overwhelming, largely the majority, worries, asks, screams about what else she may remember from then. From shadows that move and lakes and faces without- without-

A small part that she considers quite traitorous scratches in the inside of her chest, wishing they remembered. Remembered that she isn’t an old family friend of her father’s, that it wasn’t an insignificant event in their lives when she watched them, guarded them, protected them.

Wished they remembered Dani, _her_ , them.)

“I’m sorry.” Dani doesn’t dare call her Flora. Doesn’t dare risk it on today of all days even if she hopes the pure warmth and love that’s gathered could fend off anything. A hand squeezes hers. 

(Sometimes she still loses focus.

The room tilts and shivers and Dani- she _swears_ she hears the sound of water dully breaking against the shore.)

“Could you repeat that?”

“Well,” Flora looks at her and then to the side, smiles that smile she had as a child, wide and inquisitive and-

 _Oh_. Hopeful.

“How do you know it’s love.” Flora clicks her tongue, dissatisfied with her question. “I guess. The-the everlasting kind?”

James laughs, deep and full, beside her. “Planning to ditch me by the end of the night?” 

“No.” Flora rolls her eyes but leans into his side all the same, looking up at him with a brilliant light in her eyes that burrows deep into Dani’s chest- shoves aside that small, small part of her and takes root in its place. “I just- they-”

“We’ve been through it.”

Dani glances to her side at the voice, squeezes the hand in hers. Jamie’s shoulders fall with relief as if just the thought of- of all of it had eaten away at her so thoroughly in only a moment. Flora slides around in her seat- ever moving- as her elbows knock those beside of her, earning a few aggravated glances that are half-hearted at best and full-blown adoration at least. “Yes,” she says with so much determination that it makes Dani’s hands shake at the ways in which that determination used to be directed fully at her, of bedtimes and snacks and stories. 

(She remembers when she was so, so small.

Eager and wispy and bright. 

She still is, of course, but Dani- Dani forgets those moments so easily. Forgets _everythingnothingthebeast_.

Forgets.

But then they’re there. Her family. Flora and Miles. Owen. Jamie.

And she leans, reaches, aches for them.)

“Don’t you remember?” Dani asks, chest filling with pride and anticipation and oh, love. “One day,” she starts, feeling Jamie press against her side more. She smells of mulch even though Dani had urged her to take shower after shower, joining her if only to make sure she was thorough. “One day,” she repeats through the haze of slow mornings and burnt dinners and forgotten shows in favor of gentle hands and whispered jokes, “one day, you come across them-”

“And they never leave,” Jamie interjects, pinkie hooking over hers and giving it a shake.

It’s foolish, a habit of Jamie’s when Dani feels off balance and the beast steps closer. A light step, a quick shift forward. But- but the beast isn’t here. Isn’t curling around her ribs, slipping through her bones and spreading. It’s gone and Jamie fills the spaces in between. She curls her finger around Jamie’s. “You’ll just know, and you’ll cherish it as long as you have it. In the meantime, that love-,” she pauses, looks to Jamie and finds eyes that are warm, green and brown flickered as if the universe knew of what Jamie would become. Of what her hands would accomplish and give life to. 

“It blooms.”


End file.
